


Another Day

by lexidafree



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin!Link, Fanwork of Fanwork, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, POV Minor Character, Thief!Rhett, incorrect legal jargon, semi-asshole character POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 06:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21295013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexidafree/pseuds/lexidafree
Summary: *Based on the Distribution and Habitat universe by cockymclaughlin*He represents about ninety-nine percent of his clientele and the reason Gregg started this business in the first place.Jim McLaughlin is a worried parent looking for his wayward child.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Another Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Distribution and Habitat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553553) by [cockymclaughlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cockymclaughlin/pseuds/cockymclaughlin). 

> Warning: Contains spoilers for Distribution and Habitat - highly suggest you read cockymclaughlin's work first.  
(It's also fantastic, and one of my favourites so I recommend checking it out if you haven't already.)  
I started writing this before the sequel, however, so there may be some canon issues.

Gregg is an asshole. Anyone will tell you. His ex-wife, his girlfriend, his buddies. Everyone. The one person in the world that might argue the point is the one most would expect; his Momma.

She knows he doesn't always do right, but she'd always said that, deep down, he's got a good heart. He hopes that helps her sleep at night.

His Papa had thought that way too at one time. He had felt there was still something good enough in him to save. Until it got him shot in the street like a common dog. Gregg had cried loud and ugly at his father's side. Clutching his Papa's hand like he hadn't done since he was a boy.

He'd watched helplessly as his father's life had slipped away down the street and into the sewers.

"I just needed to know you were safe, boy", he’d rasped. Barely audible over Gregg's sobs.

It was on that night, cold and alone on the streets of Los Angeles that he made a vow. He'd made it, stuttering and slurring over his Papa's rapidly cooling body.

"Papa, I'm so sorry. I'll make it right, Papa," he'd gasped.

His Papa had died with a smile on his face and bound Gregg's fate forever.

It had taken years of constant effort and plenty of near misses. But eventually, Gregg had his business set up. A picture of his Papa hung on the back of his office door. Watching.

Now, Gregg is an asshole as has already been established. But he isn't a monster; he's human. Gregg knows he is because Gregg knows what other humans want more than anything. He understands. He cares, in his own way.

Some might mistakenly call him a 'Private Investigator' and some clients unquestionably come in with that expectation. So the first words out of Gregg's mouth are usually, "I'm going to be straight with you, almost none of it can be used in a court of law."

Of course, he does clarify that often the information he does unearth can be helpful to a private investigator, or maybe even a detective as a starting point. But more often than not, the pieces are too vague or circumstantial to be considered useful by their lot.

All he can offer is the chance to find what they are looking for. However that may come about.

Gregg has been in this business for a long time now, and he knows how these 'missing' people think. He can usually piece together what has or is happening from mere scraps of information. He's got it down to a fine art.

He's got his team of computer geeks he calls his 'diggers'. Men who trawl the deep web, who implant and keep track of all the trojan horses buried deep in the emails and messages of some of the most dangerous men this side of the earth.

He's got his fair share of nosy, unsuspecting twenty-somethings out there, running and tailing targets. He sends out his 'runners', and they come scurrying back with photos, videos, and recordings for him. His eyes on the streets.

He's even got a secretary.

Gregg had made a point to hire either lesbians or fat chicks after the first few he'd cycled through. His business is far too fragile, and the secretary role far too vital for him to be tempted or distracted by them.

Besides, this business was for Papa. His eyes flickered to his father's portrait before his phone buzzed.

"Your three o'clock is here," his secretary's voice crackled through the speaker.

Gregg went back to looking at his case file for his next client, running through it one last time before he buzzed Ellie to send Jim McLaughlin through.

Jim McLaughlin represents about ninety-nine percent of his clientele. He also represents the reason Gregg started this business in the first place. Jim McLaughlin is a worried parent looking for his wayward child.

The man that walks in is your standard white, middle-class dad. Red-faced and entirely bald, with a protruding beer gut. He reminds Gregg strongly of his own Papa, and it makes his insides ache just a little.

Gregg stands to shake the man's hand. "Mr McLaughlin, thank you for waiting," Gregg gestures to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Have a seat."

Jim's grunt of acknowledgement at Gregg's invitation was as short and firm as the handshake he'd given.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said, as he awkwardly lowered himself into the chair. He speaks with the same strong Georgian accent he'd had on the phone two weeks earlier.

This first session is strictly a consultation. So Gregg and his client can decide if this venture is worth it.

Gregg isn't a monster, he's a human being, but he is an asshole. So, naturally, he charges for his time — maybe slightly more than strictly necessary. Gregg may have more of a heart than he'd first anticipated. But he isn't Mother Teresa.

What he won't do, however, is lead grieving parents on longer than he needs to. If he can't help them, he cuts them off as soon as he can. It's the only courtesy he can give them.

From the initial background search his diggers did on him, Jim doesn't seem like a man that can be dallied around with anyway. Jim is a practising law professor, so Gregg knows that this man is more familiar with this business than most of his clients. Nevertheless, Gregg begins his consultation with the same spiel he always does.

"Now then, Mr. McLaughlin. I know you gave us a brief run down over the phone last time, but I'll be asking you to go over it again in more detail in a moment. However, I'll also take this time to remind you tha-"

"I know," Jim cut him off before he could finish. "I know that whatever you find may not be useable in a lawful investigation. I'm not worried about that right now. I just want to know what my boy has got himself into." Despite the gruff edge in his voice, Jim spoke surprisingly softly.

Gregg had had a fair few parents that came in yelling and hollering. Not necessarily at him, he knew but out of sheer desperation and frustration.

"Alright then, Mr. McLaughlin. Tell me the situation, and how can we help you?" Gregg continued easily. He subtly pressed the button next to his computer to begin recording as he simultaneously picked up a pen and paper to disguise his actions.

Gregg never promises his clients an entirely legal experience. He's long learned the value of recording these interviews.

"I just want to know what creek Rhett has found himself up," Jim begins. "I know he's alive, he called me and the wife just yesterday," he says, batting his hand across the air as if to eliminate the very thought. Gregg can empathise.

"But I know he's not doing that stupid computer graphics thing he claims to be. I know my son. He's not been right for a long time now. Ever since he dropped out of college." Jim pauses and looks at Gregg, gauging his reaction. Gregg nodded for him to continue.

"He's shifty and secretive. He's been to the hospital far too many times in the last few years for someone just dealing with computers. We never get a straight answer as to how he's ended up there."

Gregg spots a problem.

"So this is quite a long-standing issue then? What's made you come in now?"

Jim's lined faced pulls into a grimace.

"Last month he came racing home completely out of the blue. We hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since last Thanksgiving. Then, out of nowhere, he calls to tell us that he's catching the next flight out and he'll be there in a couple of hours." Jim shoots a hard look at him.

"Something must'a really spooked him to send him running home to Mommy and Daddy," Gregg supplies.

Jim nods and hums gravely.

"He was there for quite a while too, longer than he's ever stayed since he moved away. And he never really told us why. Kept deflecting the conversation," Jim pauses, and his hands grip his knees as he stares at Gregg's desk.

"He looked awful. He's always been a skinny thing but, his face was so hollow, and there was this look in his eye. The look he used to get when he knew he'd done wrong." Jim suddenly shook his head and chuckled darkly. "He looked like he did when he was shot at by old farmer Bobby when he was getting up in his fields again."

Gregg nodded again, trying to get to the meat of the issue.

Jim's face grew serious again. "Then this man turned up at our house. Never seen him before, didn't recognise him as one of the boy's usual friends. But he came up outta nowhere in this big fancy car asking for Rhett." Jim shook his head.

"There was just something about him. I knew something wasn't right. And then when Rhett saw him, he looked like he'd seen a ghost, never seen him look so scared of someone. Ever."

"Do you have a name or photo of this individual?" Gregg asked.

Jim shook his head.

"Rhett left the next day. We barely got to see him before he ran off back to California."

"Did you happen to hear what they spoke about?" Gregg asks, pretending to write down notes.

"We were just heading off to church when this guy showed up," Jim said bitterly, like being interrupted on the way to church was a crime in and of itself. "Rhett told us to go on ahead. I remember thinking at the time it was dangerous. But Rhett insisted."

"Ok," Gregg says, turning the page of his notebook. "Can you describe the man you saw?"

Jim pauses before answering, "He was fairly tall, shorter than Rhett though. Maybe six foot? He had dark hair and glasses."

"Big or thin? Eye colour if you noticed?"

"Very thin, even thinner than Rhett. He had these blue eyes...his stare made me uncomfortable," Jim grumbled.

Gregg nodded, finishing off his pretend notes. "Anything else to add?" Gregg asked. Jim shook his head. "And you've brought the rest of the information we requested?" Gregg nodded his head at the briefcase at Jim's feet.

"Yes, you said not to email them, so all of them are just on paper," Jim says warily.

"That's perfect, we'll put it all into our system and ensure it's all heavily encrypted - for safety," Gregg adds at the cautious look Jim is giving him. "We ask for scans only as you will not be getting any of this information back. It will all be destroyed after it's been processed. Again for safety." Gregg smiles his most understanding smile designed to make older people feel better about not understanding computers.

"Right," Jim mutters as he pulls out a file from his briefcase and hands it across to Gregg.

Gregg opens it and is immediately met by a photo of a handsome faced man with dirty blonde hair, a full beard, and large green eyes. He's much older than Gregg was anticipating.

Gregg moves the photo aside to read the form he has all his clients complete before their consultations. From his quick glance, he learns that this is the 'boy'. Rhett is a six-foot-seven giant of a man in his late thirties.

Gregg suppressed an eye roll. This guy is nearly forty for crying out loud! He's the same age as Gregg.

But then, Gregg's Papa's voice echoes in his ear about how he was always going to be his Papa's baby boy.

"He's a big man," Gregg says to stop himself from saying anything else.

"Takes after his Momma," Jim mutters gruffly, with a slight hint of fondness that's barely audible.

Gregg nodded in understanding. He'd have to take after his Mom with all that hair he's still got. Gregg discreetly cast a quick glance at Jim's shiny, bald head.

"Alright Mr McLaughlin, leave this with us, and we'll call you this time next month with any progress we have," Gregg says, standing to shake Jim's hand one last time.

_-_-_-_-_

Gregg is an asshole. For all his good intentions and good heart, he still likes to pull one over as much as he can. It doesn't take anywhere near as long as a month to find anyone with the system he's got set up. Especially if they are still alive and kicking. Gregg prides himself on being able to find anybody's trail anywhere.

Of course, he doesn't tell people this. People might go around expecting miracles. Might go around thinking it's easy and demanding he does it for cheap.

Gregg's got to pay child support and keep his runners loyal and his computer nerds satisfied with all the latest and greatest tech.

He sends Rhett's file down to his digger's to get him processed, and his case is started.

It takes his nerds no less than three hours to pick up the breadcrumbs of his trail. Surprisingly they don't find all that much in that time. His name does pop up with a few unscrupulous characters, enough to make some red flags go off in Gregg's mind.

It takes his diggers a full week to piece together enough evidence to send a report to Gregg's office. What he gets makes him more than a little wary.

Gregg never liked looking for the older ones. They have the potential to be far more dangerous than their worth. Far less likely to be saved by an intervention from Mom and Dad. The way Jim spoke about his son, it's obvious he still sees him as a little boy. But Gregg can see that this man is far more clever than his typical runaways. He can tell that by the sheer lack of information, his Diggers have unearthed for him.

But, he can't fault them for what they have found.

It looks like 'little boy' Rhett-ster is something of a thief for hire. He is handling stolen goods, only in as much as he hands them off to his employers as soon as possible. From what Gregg can gather, he's a pretty good lock and code breaker and smart enough to be his own boss rather than getting tied to any one gang.

He also seems to be a pretty shrewd businessman, being far more wealthy than Gregg thinks a simple thief aught be. Regardless of how high class his targets. Especially if he's not dealing with the sales.

A picture begins to build itself in front of Gregg's eyes, of Rhett taking something from a job and not passing it on and his employer chasing him down. As Gregg glances across his notes, he realises it would have to be slightly more complicated than that.

By the looks of it, Rhett's been doing this for years. It would take more than a pissed off mob boss to send him running.

Gregg hums and stares at his computer screen and scratches his chin. He'll have to send a runner out sooner than usual at this rate. He is worried about the unidentified male who is going around spooking literal lumberjack giants. So far Rhett has survived a month without incident though, so it is possible he's sorted the situation out himself.

Gregg continues to ponder, and he lets his diggers have another day at it before he sends out his first lot of runners.

-_-_-_-_-

It's incredible how fast things can go to shit when you're on top.

His first lot of runners find about as much as his diggers did. He sends a few boys to the addresses listed in Rhett's file from his father. One to the address listed as his home address. Another to a female friend of his. The first to return reports that though Rhett does occasionally stop by his apartment, he hasn't been seen in months. His mail is all backed up, and there are newspapers scattered all over his lawn, all in several stages of decay.

His other runner phones in to inform him that Rhett often goes out to lunch with his female friend, Stevie. His runner has learned through eavesdropping on their phone conversations that this is in fact, the plan for tomorrow.

Gregg gives the order to tail him and follow him wherever he goes.

Now, Gregg is no idiot. Getting good help is hard at the best of times. So when he does get a good roost of boys, he makes sure to keep them safe and happy. He's not stupid enough to have his runners tailing would be criminals without some backup. That's where his "spotters" come in.

Each runner has a spotter who has access to their tracer, body camera and wire at all times, and they are in constant communication. In emergencies, they can tap into surveillance footage to guide them out of sticky situations. It is genius. Gregg's a literal genius.

Most of his spotters are stereotypical computer nerds, a different brand from his diggers but within the same breed. Most spend their time hunched over their computers in dark rooms staring at the maps and the blinking dot that is their runner. Gregg doesn't usually have a problem with them.

So when one of his spotters comes bursting into his office without warning, shrugging Ellie off his shoulder with a frantic look in his eye. Gregg knows shit's hit the fan.

The boy in front of him is a slightly overweight twenty-something, and he's sweating and shaking profusely. "I can't find him, sir. He's gone! I don- I don't know- I've done everything!" The kid looks like he's on the verge of tears. Gregg stands up and makes his way over to the scene.

"Whose manning your station?" He asks as they all march their way to the floor with all his spotters and their computers.

"Mr. Valentine, sir. I called him over as soon as I lost track of him and couldn't get him back. He sent me to get you, sir!" The boy responds, panting.

It must be serious if Mark thinks it's bad, Gregg ponders.

"Alright," Gregg says, straining to remain calm. "And who was your partner tailing?"

"McLaughlin, sir!" the boy gasps back, clutching a stitch in his side.

"Ok, there's another tail out there on McLaughlin right now, get his spotter to pull him back in, understood?" Gregg orders, knowing that giving the kid something to do will help him immensely.

"Yes, sir!" the kid darn near salutes him and races off to do as he was told.

Gregg rounds the corner to see Mark hunched over the computer in the only office compartment with the door swung open.

Mark spares him a glance.

"Our runner's dead," he reports solemnly. "I activated his emergency tracer, and he's flatlined." Gregg stares at him in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Unless they've cut off both his hands and feet and put them in a blender I'd say it's a sure thing." It was right of passage for his runner's to get their emergency tracers implanted. Gregg liked a sure thing, so he used implants more than one might say is strictly necessary.

"Where is he? What blocked him from his spotter?" Gregg asks, getting antsy.

Mark shrugs. "I had to do an emergency reboot of the whole system, and the rest of his gear is still all black, the only thing I could get back online was his emergency. He's in this alley here," Mark finished pointing to a blinking dot on the screen.

Gregg nodded heavily and stared tiredly at the blinking dot and the health report screen next to it.

"Call the police, get them to go in and get him. I'll call his parents."

-_-_-_-_-

That night Gregg loses a runner and a spotter as well. He gets everything he can from him before inevitably has to break the news to him. It breaks the poor kid and no amount of assuring from Mark that the kid did all the right things helps.

In the end, Gregg sends him home and doesn't expect to see him again for a long time. If ever.

It's a long, sucky night.

The phone call to the parents goes about as well as can be expected. The kid had signed a waiver, as they all do and is fully insured. But it doesn't matter, none of it matters.

-_-_-_-_-

At two in the morning, Gregg is startled out of his brooding when his head digger, Will comes storming into his office.

"Found something, Gregg," he says firmly. "Check your emails."

Gregg proceeds to open his emails, but he knows he won't have to read it, Will is about to explain it all anyway.

"We found the last known person to hire McLaughlin, some nobody low life going by the name 'Frank'," Will begins. "He's missing. There's a bit of a power vacuum leftover in his neighbourhood." Will is practically vibrating, so Gregg knows that not the end of it.

"So we started looking into him, he was easy to track. Sloppy as all hell," Will begins pacing around the room. "Turns out, he was super interested in this big wig tycoon way out of his league, wanted McLaughlin to steal something from him," Will stops in front of Gregg's desk and leans in. "That 'big wig' was Charles Lincoln Neal," he finishes.

"Fuck," says Gregg.

If Gregg had known that was who was hanging around, Gregg would have never sent any of his boys out. He scrolls down his email, and sure enough, there is a candid photo of the man, tall and thin with dark hair and glasses. And there, right next to him with his arm very firmly in Charles Neal's clutches is, Rhett McLaughlin.

"We pulled that from a club surveillance cam not ten minutes ago," supplies Will.

"Shit," Gregg had heard of Charles Neal. He's more commonly known by his moniker, Link. He is not a man Gregg wants to be anywhere near. Ever.

A few previous clients have come in looking for their kid, and whenever he gets even an inkling that this guy is involved, he pulls out quicker than a one-night-stand without a condom.

He's worked very hard to ensure that they don't appear on his radar. Because if they do, that's the end of it. For all of them.

Gregg puts his head in his hands and groans.

"I'll go get Mark in here," says Will and walks out with purpose as Gregg tries to dig his eyeballs out with his fingers.

-_-_-_-_-_-

After a very, very long night and far too much coffee for his bowels to ever truly forgive him, Gregg and his two most trusted men finally reach a verdict. They have to pull out.

Although Will thinks now is as good an excuse as any to bring this guy down, both Mark and Gregg value their lives and are far too practical to be swayed by Will's line of argument. Gregg knows that literally no one is going to like this plan. Not his runners, who will want revenge for their fallen brother. Not his spotters, who will want the same. Not Jim, who will want a refund and an answer as to why he can't have answers about his son.

On the plus side, Gregg's reasonably sure his diggers won't give a shit.

Gregg feels utterly drained as the morning sun dares to raise its disgustingly gorgeous head over the horizon. As Gregg finally lowers himself into his car to drive home to shower and change, he feels conflicted, dirty and useless. A small part of him agrees with Will. The small part of him his Momma saw was good. He's furious at the assholes who murdered his runner. He's furious at Jim for bringing his company this case; he's furious at Rhett for being stupid enough to land himself in this mess when he has perfectly loving parents waiting for him. But most of all, he hates Link for being the killing blow.

All his hatred and frustration and dream-like scenarios of bringing that creep to justice vanish like ice in a flame as soon as he pulls into his driveway and sees something out of the ordinary on his doorstep.

Gregg does not want to get out of his car. He wants to reverse right back out and drive as fast as he can in the other direction. But Gregg very rarely gets what he wants.

Slowly as if approaching a bomb, Gregg gets out of his car and shakily makes his way to his front door.

He looks down at the seemingly innocent postcard as if it’s the fingers of his very recently murdered runner. For Gregg, it might as well be.

Pictured on the front are two men lounging in a neon blue kiddie pool, open Hawaiian shirts expose their chests to the warm rays of the sun and the cool of the water. One has dirty blond hair, a full beard and is taking up most of the pool with his overly long limbs. The other has dark salt and pepper hair with bright blue eyes that pierce through thick-rimmed glasses. Both are holding ice creams and have an arm draped around the other. Both are grinning into the camera. Gregg feels sick as he reads the words above their heads, "We're on Vacation!".

With shaky hands, Gregg slowly turns the card over to see what's on the back.

'Thanks for your concern!

Rhett and I are enjoying a well-deserved vacation, nothin' but blue skies and blue seas for us hard-working men!

See ya soon!  
Link :)'

There is no return address. There is nothing, not even Gregg's address.

In that moment, Gregg fell to his knees and promptly vomited in the pot plant near the door. For several moments he could do nothing but shake, dry heave and stare in abject horror.

-_-_-_-_-_-

The news of the postcard has spread throughout the business, everyone knows, and it has calmed the waves of decent that had brewed over dropping the case. They all get it now. This fish is far too big for them to fry.

The only person left to convince of this is Jim McLaughlin.To say the man is pleased or impressed with the results Gregg gives him is an understatement. He vibrates with disbelief and barely controlled rage.

"On vacation…"

"Yes," Gregg replies before Jim can finish his train of thought.

"The answer you're trying to give me about what my son is doin-" Jim is starting to glow red in the face and Gregg just wants to get him out of his office as soon as possible.

"Disagreement with his boyfriend, they're on vacation together now working it out. All sounds like a big misunderstanding," Gregg rushes out.

"Rhett was probably scared about how you and your wife would react to him having a boyfriend. Very common, I hope it won't be too much of an issue for you two! Family is very important, and it comes in all shapes and sizes," Gregg pushes on, pretending to gather up materials around his desk in a 'case closed' sort of way.

Jim is looking like he is about to explode.

"I spent a fortune for you to half-ass-" Jim is up out of his seat, but Gregg has already pushed his panic button, and two men are there to escort Jim out. Gently.

"If you are unsatisfied with our service Mr McLaughlin you are welcome to claim a full refund. Please lodge your complaint at the front desk." Gregg would normally never offer such a thing. It’s a testament to how fucked up this whole situation is. Both that Gregg offered and that Jim didn't notice anything odd about a scam artist giving back his spoils. Gregg's already had Ellie return the money.

Gregg's company can not and will not help Jim McLaughlin. His son is far too lost to be saved by Gregg and his motley crew. Gregg can only hope to protect himself and his own and spare Jim McLaughlin the horrors of what they've found.

Gregg doesn't look up at his father's portrait on the back of his door. But he does offer a silent prayer for Rhett, as a fellow idiot boy with father that loved him too much. He prays that Jim McLaughlin gives up his search for answers and lives to love his son another day.


End file.
